Page 16 of A Perilous Passion

“Is it so very wrong do you think?” Miss Allston asked innocently.

There she was again, actually supporting the illegal trade. Thank Moses he’d not hinted at his mission to her. Then again, it was hard to picture her dashing off in search of one of the villains to warn them a government spy was on their tail.

“Anything that’s illegal is wrong. You know that,” countered Miss Daniell.

“But not everything that’s wrong is illegal,” said Miss Allston. “I think it very wrong that men should struggle to feed their families while customs monies go into the pockets of corrupt officials. And a profligate prince.”

“Good lord. Are you a revolutionary, Charlotte?” asked Hester.

Rafe was asking himself the same question.

But no. That was a ridiculous notion. She was too young and too inexperienced to hold such radical beliefs.

“Of course not,” Miss Allston snapped. “But I’m still curious. Are all the smugglers from hereabouts? You’ve not heard of any links with Essex or East Anglia?”

“I would not assume,” said Hester, rising to stroll farther back into the room, making Rafe duck down below the sill, “that every criminal knows every other criminal in the land.”

Damn! He could barely hear her now. Miss Allston replied at some length, but she must have followed her friend.

Why had she asked about East Anglian smugglers? He needed to know.

He edged as close to the window as he dared, just in time to catch Hester saying something about lace attracting a man’s attention. Excellent—she was walking back toward him again.

“I do wish there were more eligible young men close by. The Bentincks and the Pierpoints spend more time up in Nottingham than they do here, or they might be worth considering. There’s always Mr. Williams of Herrington, I suppose, but he has appallingly bad teeth.”

“Oh, but so very tall, with such an aristocratic nose!” said Miss Daniell.

Hester replied, “Well, his height would be an advantage, in that it conveys his bad breath over the top of one’s head.”

“How cynical you are!” said Miss Daniell. “What about Mr. Goodden the High Sheriff’s son, or Mr. Darmer, or Mr. Strode?”

He began to ease himself away from the window. There was nothing more he could learn if they were just going to catalog all the local gentlemen.

But stopped dead when Miss Daniell said, “I know he lives a bit further away and doesn’t mingle with the ton in this part of Dorset, but what about Lord Beckport?”

His head jerked up so violently he almost knocked himself unconscious on the windowsill. Good God. This he had to hear.

“Charlotte, do be careful,” warned Hester. “You don’t wish to spill tea all down your front. It leaves the devil of a stain.”

Warmth stole through him. He had affected her, then. Even though she’d appeared so calm and poised when he’d invaded her chamber last night. He smiled in satisfaction.

“Hester! Such language!” The parson’s daughter. Obviously.

“Well, it does. Worse even than red wine.”

“Lord Beckport?” Miss Allston queried in a strained voice. “I’m not sure I’ve heard of him.” Liar. “He’s a bachelor?”

“And an earl,” said Miss Daniell.

The relentless downpour had started to invade his oilskin coat, but Rafe ignored it. Wild horses couldn’t drag him away now. Not even a whole herd shedding hairs on him.

“Indeed. But I disagree that he’s eligible,” Hester replied.

Really? Why not? Had his meddling mother announced an engagement he wasn’t aware of?

“To marry him,” Hester explained, “a lady must be prepared to be a laughingstock.”

Fury swept through him at the insult.